15. Ozyris Brentley
Iwas standing in the mirror, letting Marco, my stylist, fix the last little wrinkle in my collar when somebody knocked on the door.
“I got it,” Ky said, but I was already moving.
I pulled that door open, expecting the camera crew or somebody from the label, and instead, I was looking at Ginger.
Standing there in a black dress that fit her like it was painted on, her orange hair up in a sleek bun, she was with her girls, two bitches I ain’t fuck with ’cause they were always filling her head up with bullshit.
She knew I didn’t like they ass, so she looked back at Frick and fucking Frack and said, “Give me a minute.”
They rolled their eyes and walked a few steps away from my door.
Crazy how my whole mood shifted as soon as I saw her.
“Y’all give me the room right quick,” I said.
They ain’t have to be told twice. Marco zipped up the last of his things, and both him and Ky slid past Ginger in the doorway.
Ginger stepped in, and I closed the door behind her.
“Gin, look, I really ain’t tryna go back and forth with you tonight,” I told her, walking back over to the mirror. “So, whatever it is, it gotta wait.”
“I’m not here to argue,” she said quickly.
I turned around and looked at her. “Okay. So why you here then?”
“I came to apologize,” she said, walking closer and pulling her dress down.
I chuckled. I couldn’t even help it. “Apologize? Since when you do that?”
She let out a breath and folded her arms. “I know I been on go lately. And I told you why. I really am interested in us being a real couple, Ozy. But you keep shitting on me.”
“So, you came all the way to my room to tell me I keep shitting on you. Aight.” I shook my head and turned back to the mirror, checking myself one last time. Chain sitting right. Fit clean. I grabbed my phone off the bed and headed for the door.
She was right behind me down the hallway, them heels clicking on the marble the whole way to the elevator. When we got there, she stepped in front of me and looked up at my face, and I looked down at hers.
Security was never too far behind me. I looked up and waved my hand because I already knew they were about to try and put distance between us, but I wasn’t trippin’. I could handle Gin.
“Listen,” she said. “All of this is bullshit anyway, and it’s crazy that we gotta be fake with each other in the first place. But I really do like you. And I’m sorry for the things I’ve been doing and saying. I don’t wanna be beefing with you.”
I let that sit for a second. “Aight. We cool, Ginger. Let’s leave it at that.”
She gave me a long look, and I knew she wanted to say some slick shit, but surprisingly, she didn’t.
“You know what? You right.”
“Who told you to come apologize?” I asked. “Derez put you up to this?”
“No.” She looked me dead in my face. “I wanted to.”
The elevator dinged, and we all got on. Rode all the way down to the lobby without saying anything else.
I felt like our manager had her come clear the air with me ’cause he knows how I am.
They ain’t done building her image and making her look like this super-marketable and lovable pop star, and with the shit she be on, I was deadass ready to end this bullshit contract.
Soon as them lobby doors opened, the flashes started.
Cameras going crazy, people yelling my name, security parting the crowd for us.
Ginger slid her hand into mine, and we walked out to one of the black trucks lined up at the curb.
I helped her in, got in behind her, and the driver closed the door.
I was scrolling my phone when I looked up through the tint and saw them coming out the side doors. All the winners headed for the Sprinter, and Noree was right there in the middle of them with her sister.
“Damn,” I said.
Ginger’s head snapped toward me. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I tapped the glass. “Pull off.”
But my mind was already made up. I needed to get Noree by herself tonight. I ain’t do nothing wrong, but I ain’t want her getting the wrong idea about me and Ginger neither.
VIP was jumping. Money flying up in the air and coming back down on everybody’s heads, women flocking to the VIP ropes, shaking ass and titties, tryna get in, niggas standing off in the cut hating.
The club was packed wall to wall, so packed the bouncers had stopped letting people in an hour ago, and there was still a line wrapped around the building outside.
Security was in full effect, my people posted at every entry point to the section, and the DJ was in there earning every dollar of his check. The liquor was hitting me just right, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about anything but the moment I was in.
I was in a good mood.
The camera crew had their cameras up the whole time, moving through the section, catching everything for the documentary.
PB was standing on the couch next to me with his drink up, rapping every word of the record that was playing, and I was right there with him. Shit was lit, and every time I stepped out, it was a fucking movie.
Then the DJ cut the music off, and I already knew what was about to happen.
“Y’all know who in the building tonight?”
The whole club started screaming before he even said my name.
“Muthafuckin Ozy Love! The GOAT! Same nigga that’ll have women in they feelings and ready to drop they panties at the same time! Y’all niggas better hide y’all girls tonight!”
He dropped my record, and the club erupted.
Everybody’s phone came up at the same time, that whole floor lit up, and PB grabbed my shoulder and shook me while a thousand people screamed my own words back at me.
I smiled wide, singing along to my own lyrics.
I even grabbed a few phones and took up-close-and-personal videos.
One girl cried, and another fainted when I tried to hand their phones back to them.
The fainting and crying was something I didn’t think I’d ever get used to, but I still loved that shit, nonetheless.
I looked away for a moment, and that’s when the winners walked in.
But all I saw was her.
Noree came through the section entrance with her sister behind her, and I forgot the words to my own song.
Red dress. Back all the way out. Gold heels, gold jewelry stacked up her arm, hair pinned up with them little pieces hanging down by her face that women loved to let hang.
I didn’t even know what they were called, but I liked it.
I had already seen her from the truck earlier, and it messed me up then, but seeing her walk into my section with the light hitting her was a whole different situation.
Shawty really had a nigga wide open.
I stepped down off that couch to speak, and she walked right past me.
Not rude, not making a scene. She spoke to PB, said something to Ky, and gave a little wave to the section in general. Nourah plopped down next to PB, and Noree sat on the other side of Nourah, which put her further from me. I knew it was intentional, so I laughed it off.
Gin was sitting to my right with her legs crossed, sipping her drink, and the two locked eyes for maybe half a second. I was sure that was why she distanced herself, but it was cool.
The bottle girl came over with the tray and leaned in so they could hear her over the music.
“Hey, ladies, y’all drinking white or brown tonight?”
“White,” Nourah said.
“Same,” Noree replied with a smile.
She poured the tequila and asked what they wanted to chase it with. Nourah took orange juice, and Noree took cranberry. They tapped they glasses together, and Nourah said something I couldn’t hear that made Noree throw her head back laughing. I caught myself watching her too long again.
I knew I was staring. I knew it while I was doing it, and I couldn’t make myself stop.
Nourah caught me first. She elbowed her sister, leaned over, and said something in her ear, and Noree’s whole face changed.
She looked down at her cup and did that thing where you try not to smile, and it don’t work.
Then she peeked up at me for about a second and a half before she looked away again.
The DJ switched to one of my club bangers, that real grown and sexy music, and the club went crazy again.
Hell, I took the D’Ussé and was leaning over the rail, pouring it straight into a couple ladies’ mouths.
PB had done climbed all the way up on the arm of the couch.
Money was still coming down. It was chaos in the best way.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Noree take a sip of her drink right as somebody bumped into her, and her drink spilled straight down the front of her chest.
She jumped up, looking around the section for a napkin, and there wasn’t none because ain’t nobody in there thinking about no napkins. She said something to her sister and headed toward the VIP bar.
I gave it about ten seconds. Then I handed my bottle to PB and went behind her. Fans copping feels on me the whole time, my security behind me, pushing people out the way.
She was leaning over the bar top, wiping herself down, when I walked up on her, and when she turned around, she came damn near chest to chest with me.
“Oh,” she said, catching herself. “My bad.”
She tried to walk around me, but I put my hand around her waist, stopping her.
“What are you doing?” She asked confused.
“Nah.” I leaned down close to her ear so she could hear me over the music. “What you doing? Why you ain’t speak to me?”
She turned her head and put her mouth close to my ear to answer, and I felt her breath on my neck when she talked.
“I mean, you were sitting next to your girl. I ain’t wanna bother you.”
I pulled back and looked at her, then leaned back in. “Wow. So that’s what we doing? You being petty right now?”
“Hi, Ozy,” she said, all extra sweet.
“Nah, don’t do that.” I was laughing, though. “Don’t be petty.”
She laughed too, and we were still standing all up on each other, close enough that if anybody walked past, they would’ve swore she was my girl and not Ginger. But I wasn’t moving, and neither was she.